


Drop a Heart

by Applefall



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, alternate universe - heart disease
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applefall/pseuds/Applefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick's always been different and Pete may or may not be in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely apologize if I write the heart disease, which is restrictive cardiomyopathy, which is live able with, wrong.
> 
> Also, not really spellchecked or grammar checked at the moment.

The van stops in the middle of nowhere on a snowy day.

Andy's driving when it happens. All Pete knows is that they're speeding along at 60 miles an hour and then they're slowing, Andy cursing as he pulls the van over. Joe groans from the passenger seat and next to Pete, Patrick raises his head from the pillow he's clutching. Patrick coughs, a ragged sound that sounds like it's being ripped from his chest. Pete flinches at the cough. He's known Patrick for a year now and he's still not used to the ragged coughs and the multiple meds Patrick takes every day. Pete still doesn't know what's wrong with Patrick as he changes the subject quickly every time it's ever mentioned.

"What's going on?" Patrick asks sleepily, his red blond hair sticking up in many different directions. His baby blue eyes are hooded as he looks at Pete confusedly. Pete's heart does that stupid thing it does when he sees Patrick, a little skip beat.

"Andy!" Joe whines and Andy leans and punches him. "Ow!" Joe shouts and Patrick rolls his eyes. Pete snickers and Patrick chuckles for a moment before stopping abruptly, placing a hand on his chest. He draws in a shaky breath and Pete turns his head to look at Patrick.

"Did you take your meds today?" Pete asks, realizing he hasn't asked him. Patrick shoots him a glare and nods. Pete raises his hands in defense and turns back to Andy. "What's wrong with the van, dude?" he asks and Andy shrugs. Pete turns back to Patrick, whose laying down again. His feet are in Pete's lap and Pete rubs his leg. Patrick lets out a soft contented noise and his cheeks instantly turn pink. Pete gives him a grin and blows a kiss, and Patrick attempts to frown. Joe turns and makes a face at them, pretending to throw up. Pete cheerily flips him off.

Andy throws the van into park suddenly and they all shout, jerking forward. "Andy!" They all shout, struggling to pick themselves up. Andy crosses his arms and turns around in his seat. His brown hair sweeps across his face as he glares at the three of them. Patrick picks himself off the van floor and gets back into his seat, wrapping the ragged blanket around him and tugging his hat down. Pete picks himself up and curls next to Patrick, shoving his face into his neck. Pete breathes in his scent momentarily, infatuated with the vanilla and sweat smell. Patrick groans but doesn't push him away, instead drops his chin onto Pete's head.

"I don't know guys. We still have a ton of gas and the tire pressure is fine... I guess we'll have to take a look." Andy sighs. Joe lets out a whining noise again and earns himself a whack on the head. Andy unbuckles himself and climbs out of the van, Joe following him with some grumbling. Patrick pushes Pete away from him.

"C'mon, Pete, let's go." Patrick shrugs off his blanket and pulls on a large coat. Pete sulks for a moment before he realizes that Patrick isn't going to change his mind. He grumbles and follows Patrick out of the van, cursing as he nearly slips on ice. Patrick looks incredibly small bundled in his large coat and he's pulling on gloves when he catches Pete staring at him. His cheeks redden slightly, but that may because of the cold, and he breaths out a little puff of air.

Andy's at the front of the car, struggling with the hood. He gets it open and peers inside, Joe standing a little too close to him. Pete catches Joe's eye and Joe shrugs. It's cold. Joe mouths, though Pete's not so sure. Patrick leans against the van and sighs, closing his eyes. He coughs, it sounding like it's been wrenched out of him. Pete grimaces and leans next to Patrick. "Are you sure you took your meds?" Patrick gives him a dirty look, plump lips drawn into a tight frown.

"I already told you, I did." Patrick says shortly, pulling away from his slightly. "It's just the weather. Harder to breath in." Patrick explains, voice softer, not as harsh as it had been moments before. "You worry too much."

"Maybe you don't worry enough." Pete says, watching as Patrick rolls his eyes at him.

"Whatever, fucker." Patrick scoots a little closer to him now, their shoulders bumping. "I'm starving," Patrick sighs, moving a gloved hand up to brush his messy hair out of his eyes. "And besides being starving, I actually need to eat." Patrick mutters under his breath, so quietly that Pete almost doesn't hear it. But he does and he also detects the worried undertones of his voice.

"I think we have some bags of chips," Pete offers, wracking his brain. They were meant to stop at a gas station soon and load up on snacks because their supply was running low. Patrick gives him a grateful look and follows him to the trunk. Pete yells for Andy to open and he does a moment later. Pete has to steady their guitars and Andy's drums before they fall and Patrick hastily grabs the giant bag of doritos. Pete slams it shut and hopes that nothing is damaged. The strawberry blond teenager opens the bag and begins eating them, licking his lips after every few chips. Pete's entranced by the movement of his pink tongue across his full lips and he has to look away hastily when Patrick turns back to him.

At that moment Andy and Joe come back, Andy looking frustrated. "I don't know what's wrong, honestly. We're going to have to call for a tow-truck or something and then call Stephanie and tell her we won't make it to our next show in time." Stephanie is their manager and Pete just knows that she's not going to be pleased. Patrick's face falls at the last few words though. Pete knows he loves playing shows, regardless of his stage fright. He knows Patrick loves bringing all the screaming teens joy and music. They all sigh collectively and head back into the van to avoid freezing to death. Andy is on the phone in the drivers seat and Joe is reclined back in the passengers, eyes closed.

Pete and Patrick climb into the back seats and Patrick sighs again, clearly unhappy. Pete pats his lap and Patrick doesn't hesitate to lay his head down on his thigh, spreading out across the seats. Pete's hand finds his hair and he cards through the somewhat greasy hair, smiling down at his best friend. Andy argues with someone, Stephanie probably, and then says, "Yeah, we're okay. Just bummed we can't make it to the show."

Patrick is humming something softly, eyes closed and a hand clutching Pete's thigh. It's getting dark outside even thought it's only five and Pete finds himself starting to drift off to Patrick's humming, which gradually grows softer until it stops all together. Patrick's side rises and falls evenly and Pete can hear him breathing softly. He's asleep and Pete's legs are a little numb but he doesn't care.

"Guys, they're here, we gotta get out now." Andy suddenly says, voice loud in the quiet van. Pete's eyes open and he feels extremely drowsy but he shoots Andy a dirty look, gesturing to the sleeping Patrick curled up on his lap. "Wake him the fuck up." Andy turns and shakes Joe awake, who was previously snoring.

"Aw, what the fuck?" Joe mumbles sleepily, though he stretches and rubs his eyes. Pete shakes Patrick gently, pulling him out of his nap. Patrick yawns against his thigh before sitting up, looking tired. With only mild complaints from Joe and Pete, they manage to make it out of the van.

The tow trucker eyes the four of them and then says, "There's only three seats because the passenger has all my shit on it." Patrick frowns and is about to protest when he sighs defeatedly.

"You can sit on my lap, 'Trickster." Pete grins and leans forward, pressing a sloppy kiss to Patrick's cheek. Patrick groans while Andy and Joe snicker.

"Why can't Joe sit on Andy's lap? We all know he's dying to." Patrick teases loudly. Joe flushes and protests. Andy looks slightly embarrassed while Pete laughs loudly.

"Patrick you're already joined at the hip with Pete." Joe retaliates, crossing his arms. "You guys already cuddle all the time anyways." Patrick lifts his chin defiantly and says nothing, probably because he's know it's true.

"Fine." Patrick grumbles and they climb in, the tow trucker throwing a cigarette out of the window. Andy sits at the far end with Joe in the middle. Pete sits next to Joe and pats his lap. Patrick eyes him distastefully and climbs up into his lap. At first it's extremely uncomfortable and Patrick keeps shifting, rubbing against his dick. It takes all of his will power to not get hard.

Patrick finally settles and leans back against his chest. He's not big, but Patrick's never been thin. He has baby fat on his hips and his thighs, making him curvier than the average male. But right now, Patrick feels impossibly light. The truck starts and they jolt forward slightly, Patrick nearly sliding out of his lap.

Pete steadies him with hands on his hips, holding him tight. He hears Patrick take in a shaky breath as he does so and tenses, but he doesn't think much of it. Patrick in his jacket is warm against him, the warmth spreading through him. He snakes his arms around Patrick's stomach and hugs him to keep him from falling off his lap.

Patrick coughs again and draws in a ragged breath. "Patrick?" Pete questions quietly, concerned. Patrick's coughing intensifies for a moment and then stops.

"Smells like cigarettes." Patrick whispers, coughing again. Pete's heart leaps to his throat. If Patrick already has trouble breathing, the smoke he's breathing in coming from the tow trucker's new cigarette can't be good for him. "Can't, can't breath." Patrick draws in a strangled breath and exhales, shuddery.

"Can we roll down the windows, please?" Joe asks, noticing Patrick's dilemma. The tow trucker grunts and the back window rolls down, cold air hitting them in the face. Patrick tilts his head towards the window and gulps down a breath of fresh air. His breathing sounds clearer now and the panic that hit Pete fades.

"Okay now?" Pete asks him. Patrick nods and sighs.

"I hate it." Patrick mumbles.

"Hate what?" Pete asks, trying to draw and answer from him. Patrick shakes his head and looks forward again.

"Nothing."

After about ten minutes of driving they come across a small town. As they drive through it, Patrick sits up at the sight of a restaurant. "I'm starving." Patrick says, Joe and Andy muttering their agreement. Pete notices Joe's gotten a little closer to Andy over the course of the ten minutes. His knee is brushing Andy's and Pete can see a determined look on his face. He laughs to himself as he watches them talk quietly. Joe should just tell Andy about his feelings.

But then that would mean Pete would have to tell Patrick about the stupid maybe crush that he had. They pull into the repair shop and they get out, Pete instantly missing the warmth of Patrick.

Andy talks to the dude for a few minutes and comes back to them, clearly annoyed. "They won't be done fixing it for a couple hours."

"Let's go eat, then." Patrick pipes up, clutching his stomach. "I'm dying." He adds dramatically. They all agree and begin the walk to the small restaurant they had passed, managing to not get lost.

Patrick's hand brushes his as they walk and Pete considers taking it, but then he realizes that that wouldn't exactly be called being friends - even if typically Wentzian behavior was no idea of personal space. Instead, he ignores the way their shoulders and pinky fingers brush.

They head in and are directed to a booth, Patrick sliding in and Pete beside him. Joe and Andy sit next to them and they all ask for water. It's late now, almost seven, and so they order larger meals.

By the time they get their food they're all starving and scarf it down, barely talking as they do. Pete and Andy finish first, with Joe next and Patrick taking a while to eat. He always takes a while. When he begins pushing the remaining fries and the remaining fourth of his burger around his plate, Pete knows he's done.

He never finishes his meal too. No matter how small it is, he will never finish it. Patrick checks his phone, face blanching. He looks distressed and he closes his eyes, trying to keep his breathing even.

"Lunchbox?" Pete asks softly, low enough so that Andy and Joe can't hear.

"Penny died." Patrick murmurs, opening his eyes and looking close to tears. "In her sleep today." Pete's eyes widen and he watches the eighteen year old carefully. Penny was his Pomeranian, his baby. He loved the dog more than anything, Pete knew. "She just, just... Old." Patrick chokes out, sniffling.

"Oh, 'Trick..." Pete trails off. He doesn't exactly know how to comfort him. Andy and Joe have stopped talking now and are looking at Patrick, concerned. "Hey, I'm so sorry, man."

Patrick shrugs and wipes his eyes, sniffling. "Let's just go already." Patrick says, tilting his head toward a person looking at him oddly. They get out of the booth and Pete gives the person a dirty look and they look away uncomfortably. They quickly pay and then get out of the restaurant, heading back to the repair shop. The van is done and they pay for the small repair, getting back in and driving back to their destination.

Patrick curls up in the very back seat by himself and Pete decides to join him, climbing over the seats and draping himself over him. Patrick's shaking, quietly crying. Pete soothes him and eventually he stops crying and making the shuddery breaths.

Patrick sits up after a while, eyes red, and digs in his bag, bringing out four pill bottles and depositing them into his hand. He downs them easily and sniffs again, wiping his eyes. Pete tries to see the label on the pill bottles, but Patrick sees what's he's doing and stuffs them in his bag and lays back down, allowing Pete to stay on top of him.

They fall asleep like that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally wrote this jesus plus not grammar checked sorry about that

He's caught right before he manages to grab the cylindrical orange tubes from the teenager's bag. Just as he's about to reach into the bag, he hears a rustling from behind him and then an angry screech.

"Who the _fuck_ do you _fucking_ think gave you the _fucking_ right to look through my _fucking_ stuff and my _fucking_ pill bottles?" Patrick spits at him, looking more like an angry kitten than anything. It makes it much harder for him to be intimidating, especially with the blanket bundled around him and sleepy blue-green eyes. Pete gives him a guilty look, and yeah, he feels a  _little_ bad for snooping through Patrick's stuff.

But really, it's been a whole year since Pete first saw Patrick in his argyle sweater and shorts. By now he thought Patrick would have told him why he takes four different types of medicine twice a day. Pete drops the bag and huffs, twisting and flopping back down onto Patrick. "Why don't you just tell me, then?" Pete whines, nuzzling his cheek against Patrick's. Patrick groans and pushes at him weakly, but doesn't make any real effort to push him away. 

"Because, Pete. It's personal. I'll tell you one day, okay?" Patrick assures him, sighing. More than anything, the eighteen year old boy looks tired. For the past two days, ever since the van stopped working, the boy had been looking exceptionally tired and pale. Pete tried to ignore it, but it was hard to ignore the coughs.

Patrick's coughs shook his body and made Pete wince and flinch. They had been getting worse over the past few days, but Patrick said nothing. Pete knew it was only a matter of time before he took matters into his own hands. 

"Look, Lunchbox, are you sure you're okay?" Pete asks, more serious and quiet now. Patrick tenses and then relaxes and he nods. Pete's not convinced in any way. "Do I need to call Patricia?" Pete threatens, burying his nose in the back of Patrick's neck. Patrick's about to fall off the van seat and Pete is squished against the seat, but he doesn't mind in any way.

"No! I mean, no... I'm just a little tired from touring, okay?" Patrick nearly shouts before composing himself. "You're so overprotective, Pete."

"Is that a bad thing?" Pete mumbles into his neck after a few moments of silence. His heart has leapt to his throat and it's beating wildly, unsure and worried.  _Was_ he too overprotective? Too clingy?

Patrick makes a surprised noise and shifts, turning over. He's nose to nose with Patrick now and he can't help but think of how easy it would be to lean forward and press his lips against Patrick's full ones. "Pete, no... don't even tell me... are you like, like, having a self-deprecating moment? I know you are." Patrick says, sounding disappointed. "It's not a bad thing, okay? Maybe..." Patrick says and starts to sound unsure. "Maybe I like that you're overprotective and clingy and annoying." His voice wavers and sounds nearly an octave higher. "Because it makes it you. And... I don't want you to feel bad, 'cause you're awesome." 

Pete swallows down the lump in his throat and smiles. It's okay. Patrick still likes him. "Same goes for you, Stump. I know it's not just me who can get like this." Pete tells him, thinking back to the few times where Patrick had been so frustrated with himself that he had began insulting himself. 

_God, I'm so fucking stupid, I can't even get that note right!_

_Look, I just need to borrow your hoodie. Why? Because I'm fucking fat, Pete._

_Pete, maybe you should find another singer... one whose actually a good singer._

Patrick winces and sighs. "I know." He mumbles quietly. His forehead is pressed against Pete's and Pete resists the urge to put a hand on the back of his neck and kiss him senseless. He feels a dark curl of want and possessiveness in his belly, but he tries to push it away. Best friends, he reminds himself. 

"You guys up?" Andy calls from the passenger seat, where he's probably watching Joe drive carefully. Patrick shifts and moves off the seat, peering over it. Pete does the same, catching a glimpse of Joe's wild hair from the front seat. He turns to look at Patrick, who looks annoyed. They never really let him drive anymore, but only because he's pretty bad at it. Pete climbs over and stretches, followed by Patrick, who falls ontop of him and gives him the most innocent look when Pete groans.

"Yeah, we're up. Where are we?" Pete asks, shoving Patrick off of him. Patrick snickers and adjusts his hat, sitting down with his legs tucked underneath. The way he sits is so adorable, Pete thinks and then he startles himself. He's even thinking about the way he  _sits_. Christ, he's beginning to get way too deep into this crush.

"Chicago. Gonna play two shows here and then move out to the next place." Andy answers, reclined in the passenger seat. Pete instantly feels excited and a quick glance at Patrick confirms that he feels the same.

Patrick bounces in his seat, glee evident on his face. "Awesome!" He shouts and Pete tries to ignore the way his heart flutters when he looks at him and the way his eyes get scrunched up and the way his grin stretches across his face. ""Where are we playing at?" He asks, glancing out the window. It's around two in the afternoon and the day is clear, but Pete can feel the cold seeping through the windows. Patrick apparently feels it too, because he scoots close to Pete and shivers.

"Some bar. Pete can drink, but I don't want to see you or Joe drinking. Your mom would kill us, specifically Pete, if she found out." Andy says, sounding final. Joe instantly protests while Pete laughs his most obnoxious laugh.

Patrick turns to Pete and flutters his eyelashes. "Will you buy me a drink?" He asks, voice low and sultry before bursting into laughter. Joe and Andy do the same in the front. Pete joins in, maybe a second too late. He can't shake the feeling that spread through him at Patrick's low tone and lidded eyes. 

"Such a tease." Pete tells him jokingly, though when he looks up from his laughing fit, Patrick's head is tilted and there's something in his eyes that dissipates quickly. "Anyways," Pete begins, scratching his head. "When's the show start?"

Andy thinks for a minute and then leans over, digging around by his feet. He comes up with a flyer for the show, holding it triumphantly. "Eight, so we need to be there by six to set up and stuff." Pete nods and then stretches out, yawning. "And it's your turn to drive next, fucker. Don't think you can skip it again." Pete beams at his words and says nothing.

-x-

At eight sharp, they head out onto the stage. There's already a crowd of people there, mostly young adults and older teens who managed to get in with fake ID's. Pete grins at the crowd and steps forward, grabbing the microphone. "How's everyone doing tonight?" There's an answering roar as the crowd responds. "Great. So, after this show we have a few more shows left to play, so we want to thank you for coming to our very first tour as Fall Out Boy. This is also a special one, because we're in Chicago." Pete tells the crowd. "This song is called 'Homesick at Space Camp!'" 

They launch into the song, Patrick stepping forward with his hat pulled down low over his eyes and his glasses discarded. He sings with a fire tonight, playing hard. At one point during the show, he turns towards Pete and moves his guitar forward, headbanging. Pete mirrors his movement, watching as Patrick shouts the words. During 'Patron Saints of Liars and Fakes', Pete stalks over to Patrick and pushes his face into his neck, licking the sweaty skin there. Patrick's singing falters for a moment and he shivers. Pete breathes in the sweaty smell of Patrick and whispers the words into his skin before bounding away, grinning.

They finish with 'Saturday' and Pete screams alongside Patrick's singing. When Patrick sings, "Me and Pete, in the wake of Saturday!" Pete turns and gives him a huge grin, delighted to find Patrick watching him and smiling too.

The show goes well, Pete thinks. Patrick doesn't cough much through his set, though he does catch him clutching the microphone stand and breathing heavily. They finish and say goodnight to the crowd, moving off the stage for the next band to come on. Pete instantly tackles Patrick after they've put their guitars down, squeezing him and laughing. "That was awesome!" He shouts and Patrick laughs back. Andy and Joe agree, both smiling wide. After about ten minutes, they head back outside to the main bar area to hang out a bit. They've deserved it. Pete loses Patrick in the crowd and heads to the bar, ordering a drink and swallowing it down. He likes the burn of alcohol in his throat, likes the way it makes his head buzz. He won't drink too much, a maximum of two drinks, because while being tipsy is fun, throwing up the next morning isn't. 

He floats through the crowd for a while, unaware of where his bandmates are. He dances with countless girls and even a few boys. He grinds against them in an attempt to forget a certain person on his mind. It's hard to forget those blue-green eyes and that voice, though. After some time, Pete decides he wants another drink. He had downed his first one pretty quickly. Pete drifts towards the bar and orders another drink, thanking the bar tender. 

"Hey, are you here alone?" Pete hears from his left. Pete turns, craning his neck to look over the people. There's an extremely tall guy whose leering down at someone, someone short. Pete lifts himself up on his tiptoes and gapes at the sight. It's Patrick, looking small and uncomfortable. "You're very pretty." The tall guy says and Pete has to move a little closer to hear him. Patrick hasn't seen him. 

"Thanks." Patrick tells him shortly, looking away. That seems to annoy the man though, because he steps forward and crowds into Patrick's personal space. 

"When someone gives you a compliment, you should thank them, properly." The man jeers, crossing his arms. It's suggestive and Patrick's face turns a spectacular red. The man reaches down and rubs his thumb across Patrick's lips. Patrick jerks, shocked. It's at this point that Pete surges forward, past the man and in front of Patrick. Patrick's nervous face turns into one of shock, and then relief. Pete turns towards the man and stands protectively in front of Patrick.

"I think he doesn't want to thank you properly." Pete says coolly, though he's burning with anger. This man had no right to be speaking to anyone as perfect and young as Patrick. The man reddens and steps forward.

"I was talking to him. Go find some other pretty thing to fuck." The man retorts. Pete winces, but doesn't look away. 

Pete shakes his head. "No. This ones  _mine_." He hisses, looking up at the man. He holds the mans gaze, raising his fist when he steps forward. The man eyes his fist and then spits at his feet, turning. Pete's so angry, so pissed and he's bristling at the nerve of this man. Pete turns around to look at Patrick, who looks frightened and confused. "Sorry that happened to you, Pattycakes." Pete sighs. He knows he can't keep Patrick safe from the world forever.

Patrick's face softens into a smile. "Thanks for that. But... just calm down, okay? It's all right, I'm fine." Pete bristles again, this time at Patrick's naivety.

"Don't you see, 'Trick? This guy wanted to take you to the bathrooms, push you to your knees and force you to suck his dick. God knows what else he would have done." Pete tells him, struggling to keep his voice even. "It's not o-fucking-kay. I don't want you on your fucking knees, sucking some older dudes fucking dick. I don't want you bent over, crying because the dude is fucking you raw!" Pete's voice rises and then falls back down. Patrick looks shocked again, averting his gaze. 

"I know how to say no, Pete." Patrick says softly. Pete sighs and then takes his wrist. Patrick doesn't protest. Pete drags him outside and to the van. He doesn't climb inside, but faces Patrick.

"That dude would have forced you into the bathroom. That dude would have threatened to kill you if you didn't do what he wanted. That dude wouldn't take no for a fucking answer." Pete explains, voice harsh with anger. "I don't, I don't want," Pete's voice breaks and he clears his throat, "I don't want that to happen to you, 'Trick." He murmurs. Patrick steps forward and hugs him, resting his head on Pete's shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Patrick whispers, voice cracking. He coughs into his shoulder, wracking his body and making Pete move as well. Pete drops his chin onto his head and soothes him through his coughing fit, a hand rubbing his shoulder.

"I wish I could protect you forever." Pete says after he finishes coughing. The dark curl of possessiveness has returned, and after tonight Pete doesn't think it's going to go away. "Want to get into the van and play some cards or something?" Pete asks him quietly. Patrick nods and they climb into the van, locating the cards and waiting for Andy and Joe to return. Patrick's quieter than usual and Pete can see the gears turning in his head as he thinks. 

He doesn't say anything, because he's doing the same thing and trying to ignore the urge to press his lips against Patrick's.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i FINALLY WROTE THIS (i had to reupload this for some reason btw but here you go!!)

They don't talk about The Incident afterwards. They just go about the rest of the tour normally, though Pete sometimes catches Patrick staring at him intently. It makes his skin prickle for some reason, but it's not entirely unpleasant.

He doesn't think much of it, just ignores the squeeze in his heart when Patrick does something cute. Instead, he pours his emotions into playing, playing the best he can every night. He owes that to the people who pay fifteen bucks to see them play. They joke and laugh and cuddle like normal. Everything's fine.

A week after It happens they're about to play their last show. Patrick's curled up next to him, mumbling the lyrics to their songs under his breath. After a while he stands and stretches, his shirt riding up. Pete's heart skips a beat when he sees the pale skin. He wants nothing more than to reach out and touch the soft, pale skin. But Patrick lowers his arms and the skin is covered once more, like it always is.

Joe comes in at that moment, holding three beers. "Pre-show beers!" He sings, tossing one to Pete. Pete takes it and shrugs. One beer isn't enough to get him drunk, and besides, they always have Andy to drive. Pete's not entirely sure where Joe got the beers, considering he's seventeen, but he's not about to question it. And hey, it's the last show of their tour, he doesn't think that their mothers will be  _too_ mad if they find out.

"I'll let it slide this time." Pete says, eyeing the two of them. Joe shrugs and gives him an innocent look, or what he thinks is one. Pete just thinks he looks a little constipated. Andy wanders, coming to stand next to Joe, who suddenly tenses. Patrick lets out a tiny snicker and tosses a glance to Pete. Pete laughs back, not because it's that funny, Pete knows exactly what Joe's going through, but because he doesn't want it to seem like there's something wrong. Joe hands the other beer to Patrick, who takes it reluctantly.

"I don't know if I can drink this." He tells Joe, looking up with a disappointed look on his face. Pete's heart sinks a little because Patrick isn't really getting to be a teenager right now, and that totally sucks. He's seventeen, he should be able to go out and party and drink with his friends, sneak around behind his parents backs, even though he's not like that. But Pete gets it, the meds could get in the way. Mixing meds and alcohol wasn't the best idea, but Pete did it, so was it really all that bad? Andy looks at Pete with a concerned look in his eyes, but doesn't say anything.

Pete pops the top off of his own beer and takes a long gulp. It burns his throat in the way he likes and he swallows it down. It's shitty beer, but it's beer all the same. He takes another gulp and catches Patrick looking at his beer, probably still questioning whether or not he should drink it. "It's just one beer, 'Trick. I think you'll be okay." Pete tells him honestly. He's pretty sure it'll be fine. Like, seventy-six percent sure. 

Patrick pops the top off and sniffs it, nose wrinkling in distaste. But he shrugs and takes a gulp of it, wincing. "That sucks, dude." He says, licking his lips. Pete and Joe laugh and nod. Joe takes a gulp of his own and makes a face. Andy snickers at the three of them drinking the shitty beer and leans against the wall, stretching.

"Wanna try, Hurley?" Joe offers the beer with a smirk on his face. They all know Andy won't try any, wouldn't even think of it. Andy looks at him with such distaste that Pete laughs obnoxiously. "Worth a shot." Joe shrugs, bringing it close to his body. They all take a drink and wince at the same time.

Thirty minutes later Patrick's tipsy, giggling when someone says something. Andy watches him with amusement, eyebrows high. When Patrick stumbles over his own feet, however, Andy surges forward and helps him, hand on the small of his back. "Be careful." Pete can hear him say quietly as he steadies Patrick. He nods and turns to Pete, a large grin on his face. Patrick tipsy is a sight Pete's never seen, so he drinks it in, memorizing his pink cheeks and bright eyes. "You're such a lightweight." Andy chuckles and slides down onto the floor next to Joe.

Patrick waves his arms wildly and flops back down on the couch, pouting slightly. "I'm not! I'm just tiny." Patrick protests, crossing his arms. Pete steals his hat and ruffles his hair, taking the empty beer bottle from Patrick's hands.

"Okay, Rickster. If you were four inches taller than you'd probably be able to handle beer better." Pete says sarcastically, throwing Patrick his hat back and hopping off the couch. He heads over to Joe, whose hand is a little too close to Andy's. "We should set up, Trohman." Joe groans but stands, Andy following suit. Pete turns back to Patrick, whose reclined on the couch with a smile on his face. "You too, Patrick." 

His head lists to the side and his pretty pink lips pout. Pete feels his skin prickle as Patrick stares at him. "Come on." Pete says again, voice sounding weird, even to himself. Patrick smirks at him and then stands, following Andy and Joe out the room, leaving Pete to wonder what had just happened.

-x-

The show goes very well for the first half. Pete finds himself looking at Patrick more often than he should and he turns away from the sight of sweaty Patrick. He plays with everything he's got and tries to be decent for once. Joe's playing, as usual, is amazing for a seventeen year old. Seriously, he was one of the best guitarists Pete had ever met. Andy was his own brand of amazing, pounding away at his drums with a certain ferocity that deeply impressed Pete.

Pete buries his face in Patrick's neck during Dead On Arrival, like usual, and listens to the hitch in his breathing. It gives him a certain satisfaction when it happens. After he does that he runs off, twirling and bouncing across the stage.

About halfway during the show, something goes horribly wrong. Patrick's voice is going up, up, up, when it suddenly stops abruptly. There's a strangled gasp that's loud, even in the room of singing teenagers. A few people gasp and Pete turns around, icy claws gripping at his heart. Patrick's hand are hanging onto the microphone stand and he's breathing harshly into the mic. Pete knows he's trying to breath. Pete runs at him and grips him by the shoulder, panic rushing through him.

Patrick struggles for breath, tossing his head back and forth and coughing raggedly. He looks up at Pete and he can see the genuine fear in Patrick's eyes. Then, he tilts sideways, losing his footing and going limp in Pete's arms. He's still for a moment before shrieking as he realizes Patrick's not breathing. Andy and Joe have flown over to him, fear evident on their faces. People in the crowd are asking what's wrong and a lot of people are chattering loudly and nervously. "Someone call 911!" Pete hears himself scream, but it feels distant. He lowers Patrick to the floor as gently as he can and then scrambles for the CPR techniques he learned years ago.

Pete takes a deep breath and everything narrows down to Patrick, still and limp on the floor. His lips are tinging blue and Pete takes another deep breath and then puts his hands on his chest, pumping. He finds himself remembering the rhythm he's supposed to do and he does it, does it over and over and over. Patrick doesn't stir and panic grips him again, but Pete takes another deep breath. He has to stay calm. He leans over and pinches Patrick's nose and opens his mouth with his other hand. Pete breathes into his mouth, trying to send air into his lungs. He does this three times and then pumps his chest. Then he repeats the process.

He ignores the blood roaring in his ears and does it again and again and again. He's starting to lose hope, that dark part of him taunting at him when Patrick twitches and his eyes fly open, gasping for air. Pete gasps and places his hands on his cheeks, his vision going blurry. He's dimly aware that there are tears rolling down his cheeks as he cradles Patrick's head. Patrick gasps and gasps until he finally stops, sucking in air and looking up at Pete. 

Pete can't believe how close they were to losing Patrick. Andy places a hand on his shoulder and tells him an ambulance is on their way. Patrick struggles for words and then manages, "Pete?" Pete runs a hand through his sticky hair and makes a choked laugh, kissing his forehead on impulse.

"You're okay, please be okay. An ambulance is coming, you're going to be okay." Pete tells him through a few tears. He still can't believe how Patrick almost slipped through his fingers. "Oh my God, you're going to be okay." Patrick smiles weakly up at him and coughs again, shaking violently. His eyes flutter and close, but he's still breathing, so Pete knows it's okay. Patrick's going to be okay.

Just then the crowd parts and paramedics come in with a stretcher. One walks on stage and helps Pete lower Patrick onto the stretcher. Patrick's eyes fly open again, panic in them. "Pete!" Patrick says, voice rising in panic. Pete grabs his hand and squeezes. They roll him out and lift the stretcher into the ambulance. Pete doesn't even ask as he gets into the ambulance alongside the paramedics. 

"We'll see you at the hospital!" Andy calls as the doors shut. One of the paramedics looks at where their hands are joined and raises an eyebrow.

"I'm his boyfriend." Pete blurts. The paramedics nod and shrug, but Patrick looks up at him with wide eyes. Pete leans over and kisses his forehead again. "For show." Pete murmurs quietly, so only Patrick can hear. But it's really not for show. Patrick stiffens and averts his gaze. They're silent the whole way to the hospital, save for the paramedics asking the occasional question.

-x-

They don't allow Pete into Patrick's hospital room. Pete paces the hallway, ignoring the sympathetic looks people give him. After an hour Andy and Joe show up. Joe's eyes are puffy and red and it's clear he's been crying. Joe sinks into a chair and puts his head in his hands, trembling slightly. Andy walks over to Joe and places a hand on his shoulder. "As soon as the ambulance left he started freaking out. He had this panic attack and I couldn't calm him down for a while. He's so worried about Patrick." Andy explains in a low voice, glancing over at Joe with concern in his eyes.

"They won't let me in, Andy." Pete tells him, rage boiling. "Fuck! I just want to see Patrick!" He growls, running a hand through his hair and breathing harshly. Andy gives him a knowing look and it breaks Pete. He leans against a wall and sighs into his hands.

"Soon, Pete, soon." Andy assures him, but soon isn't good enough. He stalks off to the bathroom and pisses, washing his hands angrily and goes back to the hallway to do some more pacing. He stops in his tracks when he reaches the hallway though, staring at whats in front of him.

Andy's leaning down and kissing Joe, a hand in his curls. Joe's kissing back and clutching his collar, looking desperate. Pete feels a bit envious of them, why can't Patrick see like Andy has so clearly done? They kiss for another moment and then break away. Pete walks up to them, mostly feeling happy that they're finally progressing. Andy has been the only one who hadn't known of Joe's crush and it makes Pete happy to see Joe happy. Joe's like a little brother and Joe's his best friend, other than Patrick. Andy has a huge grin on his face and Joe does as well.

"Finally something happened between you two." Pete teases when Joe catches his eye. His skin is flushed and he lets go of Andy's collar. Andy sinks into the chair next to him and threads their fingers together. "We've all been waiting."

"What about you and Patrick, then?" Andy pipes up, a smirk and a mischievous look that's rare for him. Pete throws the finger at him and sits in the chair opposite of them, crossing his arms.  
  
His heart sinks a little as he says, "It's not like that. It won't ever be." Pete sighs a little and Andy and Joe shake their heads. For the thousandth time he wishes it could be like that, wish it could be like Andy and Joe. He wants to hold Patrick's hand and kiss him when he's worried, wants to do everything in his abilities to make him happy. He wants it so badly he can taste it, but the thing he wants most in the world is to see Patrick.

They wait for another hour and Pete begins to doze off when a nurse comes into the hallway. "Which one of you is Pete? He's saying he needs you  _now_." Pete stands and rubs his eyes, shaking the sleepiness off of him. Andy and Joe look like they've nearly fallen asleep as well and they stretch. Pete follows the nurse into the room, nearly bursting from his need to see Patrick.

It's not just Patrick who needs Pete, Pete needs Patrick.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao it's been nearly two months since i updated this so enjoy this?? i hope its okay??

The first thing Pete thinks when he enters the room is that Patrick looks tiny. Patrick's never been tiny. Short, yes, but never small. His shoulders were too broad, his thighs too thick. He's always been larger than Pete, always taking up a little more space. So the fact that he looks tiny in the hospital bed is surprising. The sheets and the thin blanket seem to swallow him up, and Pete's breath catches in his throat. He's never seen him like this.

"Patrick," Pete's voice breaks as he stumbles forward, eyes brimming with tears. "Patrick." He tries again, fumbling for Patrick's hand. Patrick peers up at him with his watery ocean eyes and manages a smile. "You're okay." He's okay. His best friend is okay. Pete's heart swells as Patrick scoots over and clumsily pats the bed next to him with his other hand. Pete climbs into the small bed and curls next to Patrick, carefully avoiding the thin tube snaking up his arm.

Patrick licks his lips and says, "You saved my life." His hand squeezes Pete's weakly and he smiles, perfect teeth visible. Pete lets out a relieved laugh, bringing a hand up to his cheek. "B-But..." Patrick starts, sniffling. "There's something else, Pete. Something I haven't told you." Patrick sniffles again and Pete's alarmed to see tears leaking out of his eyes. Pete has a feeling of dread that begins to swell in his chest. Whatever Patrick's about to tell him, it's not going to be good.

"Tell me- you can trust me." Pete whispers in his ear, closing his eyes and waiting. He listens as Patrick's breathing grows shallower, until he's practically holding his breath. "You can tell me." Pete reassures, pressing his forehead into Patrick's pale neck.

Patrick clears his throat and sits up. "I-I- I have-" Patrick's cut off with the door opening and the sound of footsteps. Pete looks up to see a man with dark hair holding a clipboard enter the room, a lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck. Pete bristles before realizing the man must be a doctor.

"I'm Dr. Krause, nice to meet you two." The man says, a smile on his face. "I understand Patrick's your boyfriend, but I'll need you to get off the bed, please." Dr. Krause tells Pete, sounding apologetic. Pete nods and climbs out of the bed, giving Patrick's hand another squeeze. Patrick looks terrified and he lets go of Pete's hand with reluctance. "Now, I understand you have restrictive cardiomyopathy, correct?" The doctor asks, to which Patrick nods, tears dripping down his cheeks. Pete sinks into a chair and rolls the words around in his head. Patrick has restrictive cardiomyopathy, whatever that is. " Do you want him to stay in the room?" The doctor asks Patrick, who shrugs and then hesitantly nods.

"When were you diagnosed?" Dr. Krause asks, clicking a pen. Pete listens intently, watching Patrick fiddle with the hem of the blanket. He's nervous, he can tell, and he wonders if he should leave the room.

"Three years ago." Patrick whispers eventually. Dr. Krause writes something down and then looks up. From where Pete's sitting, he can tell that Dr. Krause's eyes have softened. For some reason, that terrifies him. He terrified for Patrick, because if the doctor looks sympathetic, then there's something seriously wrong.

Dr. Krause steps closer to the bed, a grim look on his face. "We need to take blood." He says, turning away and grabbing something off the cart. It's a syringe with a long needle and Pete cringes. Patrick just looks resigned, shoulders slumping. It occurs to Pete that he's done this before, and he wonders about all the times Patrick's told him he can't go to practice because he's busy. Patrick nods and leans back, eyes closing. Dr. Krause grips his arm and inserts the needle into his arm, drawing an amount of blood. Once he's satisfied he nods and says, "I'll be back in a bit with results." With that he leaves, a slight nod to Patrick, with something in his eyes that Pete can't read.

Once he's gone, Pete lifts off the chair and heads over to the bedside, where Patrick is trembling slightly. "Patrick, why did he want to know when you were diagnosed?" Pete asks, his voice shaky. He needs to know. He has to.

"Pete, I-I..." Patrick whimpers, bringing his hands to his face. When he removes them, his eyes are brimming with tears. "I have five years to live." Patrick's voice is shaky, and with those words he cries out. Pete stills, shocked. He had to have heard him wrong. There's no way he could have heard that right. His mind has to be playing tricks on him or something, because Patrick has more than five years to live, he has his whole life ahead of him.

But the expression on Patrick's face tells him he heard right. Pete swallows and finds his hand, squeezing tightly. "No. No, don't- don't say stuff like that, you- you're going to be fine!" Pete attempts to assure himself, but his voice sounds hysterical, even to himself. Patrick doesn't let out a laugh or snicker at him like he does when he's being tricked, the melancholy expression on his face remains the same.  "No, no, no, Patrick, no." Pete breathes out harshly, shaking his head. Patrick looks up at him with watery eyes, though the tears have stopped.

"Remember how I didn't want to join the band?" Patrick asks, voice steadier and gentler. Pete nods blindly, vision going blurry with tears. Five years. Five years isn't enough, it's not because Patrick's  _eighteen_ and he's supposed to have his whole life ahead of him. Touring the country with the band, making it big. Dating and marriage and kids- it's all supposed to happen and it's  _not_. Twenty-three is too young for someone to die. "I didn't want to join because, well, I only had a few years to live. I didn't want to make friends and then have to die." Patrick admits, rubbing his face with his hands. He's not crying anymore, but he still looks upset and looks just a bit resigned. "But then I realized, if I only had a few years to live, I-I may as well spend them with friends and doing what I love."

This makes Pete choke out a cry. He brings his hand up to his lips and kisses his knuckles, eyes closing. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," Pete cries, leaning down and resting his forehead on Patrick's. Patrick wraps his hand around his neck and takes a deep shuddering breath, shaking. How often had Pete dreamed of a forever with his best friends, making music until they ran out of ideas? How often had he dreamed of Patrick seeing and knowing,kissing him senseless until they were old and gray? And now, now it seemed like that would never happen.

Patrick rubs the back of his neck with his thumb, taking shaky breaths with Pete. After what seems like hours, Patrick brings his head up and presses his lips to Pete's, firm and wet. Pete freezes for a few moments, and Patrick lowers himself down again, looking thoroughly disappointed and upset. Pete is still for a few moments more before coming to his senses and leans down, kissing him deeply. Patrick squeaks, but responds instantly, kissing back.

Pete gets lost in Patrick and the wet, desperate slide of his mouth against Pete's. It's even better than had imagined so many times before. His lips, pink and plump, are lush under Pete's teeth. He's the best kisser Pete's ever had the pleasure of kissing, and it's  _Patrick_ , which makes it a hundred times better. Eventually they break apart and Patrick's cheeks are stained from where Pete's tears dripped down to his cheek.

"I'm sorry to break this up, but I have news." Dr. Krause's voice comes from behind them. Pete breaks away, Patrick's hand sliding from the back of his neck to the bed. Pete steps back but grips his hand again. Dr. Krause steps forward, looking grim. "Patrick, you're not going to like what I have to say, but I must tell you."

"Your heart is going to get weaker and weaker until your confined in a bed for the rest of your life. You're going to end up not being able to breath, and- and eventually, your heart will fail. The medicine you're taking right now is only serving to expand your life, but we both know how short that is. The only thing we can do is put you on the heart transplant list, because your heart is going to fail and we can't change that. We can't guarantee you'll even receive a heart, though, since your condition is rare and people can live for up to ten years with it. It's not a top priority and... I'm afraid it never will be." 

Pete turns to the doctor and grits his teeth. "They won't care that he's  _dying?_ " Pete forces out angrily. "He's just as important!" He shouts at the doctor, who stands unflinchingly and stares at him. He probably hears this every day, and Pete hates that he's nearly emotionless. Patrick squeezes his hand, and he knows that Patrick doesn't want him to get angry, but he can't help it.

"All we can do is keep you guys updated. I looked at the register and currently... you'll have to wait years for a transplant. We can put you on a pacemaker, but you won't be able to lead a normal life." Dr. Krause explains, looking tired and sympathetic. "You're young, so your chances for a transplant may be greater. More medicine can help you, and lifestyle changes can help you live a little longer." Pete wants to scream and punch the wall, he's filled with boiling anger. It's not the doctor's fault, but he's so angry, because Patrick deserves more.

Patrick sighs, long and shaky. "Okay. How long?" He asks, sounding timid and afraid to even ask. Pete's never heard him sound so small and it makes him even angrier, that he's resigned himself to death. An eighteen year old shouldn't have to come to terms with dying. 

"With changes and a strict diet, eight or nine years. Maybe less, it depends on how fast the disease progresses. It could be that long, or it could be two years." The doctor explains. Patrick just nods again, closing his eyes. "We can start you on meds and you'll be able to leave tomorrow, provided nothing else happen. I'll write a prescription and be back later." Dr. Krause nods and heads out of the room, a sad expression on his face.

As soon as the door shuts, Pete swallows and squeezes his hand again. "Nine years, Patrick. That's more than five." Pete speaks up, voice shaky. He's trying to be optimistic, but the fact that his time could be shortened to two years terrifies him. But nine years is the positive outlook, and he still has a chance for a transplant. Not all hope is lost, even though Pete feels like it is. He can't even imagine how Patrick feels right now. The eighteen year old boy looks like he's accepted his fate, but Pete knows him too well. He can see he's desperate and terrified.

"Yeah." Patrick says distantly, sounding tired. Then he looks up at Pete with want in his eyes. "Now, could you just kiss me?" Patrick demands. Pete doesn't hesitate to oblige.

//

Pete leaves the room three hours later, after Patrick falls asleep. He heads into the hallway, not at all surprised to see Andy and Joe against a wall, dozing. Andy's sitting, leaned back, with Joe's head in his lap. He has a hand tangled in his curls and the sight brings a smile to his lips. Pete walks over and slides down the wall, watching the two of them awaken. 

"Hey." Andy says sleepily, removing his hand from Joe's curls and bending down to kiss his head. "How's Patrick?" 

Pete sighs, rubbing his eyes and then dropping his hands to his lap. Patrick had told him that he couldn't bear to tell him and had asked Pete to tell the two of them. "He's asleep, but... he's- he's, god, with a positive outlook, he's got n-nine years to live." Pete tells the two of them, gripping his hair with his hands. Andy and Joe startle, looking up at him with shock. Joe's breathing begins to grow shallower and Pete can see his grip tightening on Andy's calf.

"What?" Andy asks, eyes wide. "What's wrong with him?" He soothes a hand down Joe's arm and Joe takes a shuddery breath, so he gathers him close and hugs him tight. Pete watches as he whispers something in his ear, too low for him to hear. Joe visibly calms, but he's trembling and his eyes look watery.

Pete settles back against the wall, closes his eyes, and tells them, his own heart heavy in his chest and a dark cloud rolling over his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments on what you thought are highly appreciated!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops it's been two months ago. I promise this time I won't leave!! I've already written out the next chapter, which should be up tomorrow! :-)) this chapters a little emotional btw

Patrick is checked out the next day.

He's distant and tired and has to be rolled out in a wheelchair. It breaks Pete's heart to see him so weak. Patrick had been his rock for months now, always the strong, independent teenager and never the person he is right now. It terrifies Pete. It's like he's a dime that's been flipped to the other side.

Patrick doesn't talk as he's being pushed out. He stares at his hands and stays silent and still. Joe can hardly look at him for more then twenty seconds. Andy has been trying to cheer Patrick up, like Pete, but everything he tries fails. 

It's like a death sentence and Patrick knows it. Hell, he's known it for years now. Pete can't imagine being fifteen and being told he's going to die sooner rather then later. He can't imagine the pain Patrick has right now. He doesn't want to have to imagine it. But it happens.

Pete helps Patrick out of the wheelchair and into the passenger seat. He still doesn't say a word. All he does is settle against the seat and sigh. Pete closes the door carefully and thanks the nurse who helped. She looks tired too, like she knows.

"It'll work out. You'll see." The woman says quietly, patting Pete on the shoulder. Pete sighs and shrugs. He's not so sure. Andy and Joe climb into the van and Pete goes around the front to climb into the drivers seat. He's already called their manager and Patricia, letting them both know what happened.

Patricia was extremely frightened when Pete called her the night before, trying to explain without his throat closing off. She'd sniffled and asked them to bring him home. Pete had agreed. If anything, Patrick needed to rest for now. The tour was hard on them, but everyone could see the toll it was taking on Patrick. His skin was too pale, waxy almost, hair thin and eyes duller. He definitely wasn't like this before the tour started.

Their manager had understood. She'd cancelled the remaining show. Pete felt like shit for having to cancel it, but they wouldn't play without Patrick. Patrick was their singer, for heavens sake. If it was Joe or Andy or Pete, someone else could play, but no one could match Patrick's voice.

Pete buckles himself up and starts the van. He glances over at Patrick, whose looking out the window. His hands are in his lap and even they look smaller then normal, fingers twitching every so often. He can hear Andy and Joe talking quietly in the back and laughing softly. He almost wants to scream at them to shut up. How can they be happy when Patrick's not?

They drive for a while before Patrick clears his throat and looks over at him. His hand taps the back of Pete's, which is resting on the console. Pete chances a look at him, catching his eye for a moment before focusing back on the road. "What is it?" Pete asks, wanting nothing more then grab his hand and squeeze it.

"We- we should... forget about yesterday. You know." Patrick says, voice almost a whisper. Pete almost doesn't remember what he's talking about until he looks at him again and sees those pink lips. Their kiss.

It had been the best kiss of his entire life. And that was saying something, considering how much he got around. The words sink in and he realizes just what Patrick's saying. Forget their kiss? How could he? Pete didn't want to forget that, the desperate slide of Patrick's lips against his. 

Pete opens his mouth to speak but Patrick cuts him off. "Look. It's... It's not about us. It's about me. I'm- im gonna be dead in less then ten years. I can't- I can't just- I can't just have a relationship. I can't, Pete. I can't leave you like that." Patrick really does whisper this time, voice choked a little. "You have to understand, Pete." 

And Pete does. He gets it. But shit, he doesn't want it to be this way. Despair rises up and that little bubble of hope pops. Pete understands but he doesn't understand why Patrick would rather be alone. If it were Pete, he'd do it. Get the most out of his life while he could. But he's not Patrick, and Patrick's not Pete, so he has to understand.

He wishes he didn't. 

"I know." Is all he can say. He can't bring himself to look at Patrick right now. His heart aches and he wants so badly to be with Patrick, for Patrick to be his. He wants it so badly he can almost taste it, but that's disappearing. 

Patrick's silent for a while more before he says softly, "I'm sorry." And that makes it a little worse because he has nothing to be sorry about. It's his decision and while it fucking hurts, Pete knows he can't force him into anything. 

"I know. I'm sorry, too."

Pete sits there and thinks as he drives. He wonders how things would be different if Patrick were healthy. He wonders if he and Patrick would be together, if they'd be happy and playing music together. He hopes so, but he realizes he doesn't have a fucking clue.

Andy and Joe are quiet in the back and Pete wishes it could be like that, as easy as them. It makes him a little bitter and he instantly shakes the thought away. He can't do this to his friends. He can't do this to Patrick. If anything, he has to stay strong for him.

//

Pete doesn't do much when they get back home. He has his own apartment and he sleeps and eats and gets a job at convenience store. It's just for now, he tells himself. He doesn't pick up his bass much, just lets it sit there and collect dust. He loves music, but his life is shit right now. He can't bring himself to play it.

He finds himself looking at his pills a lot more often, rolling them in his hand and just looking. He drinks, getting drunk alone at night and then falling into bed, getting off on memories of how soft Patrick's skin is and how good his lips felt. It's stupid, the pining he's got going on, but he feels no one can blame him.

Patrick hasn't contacted him in the month since they got home. He'd left with a hug and a wave, empty promises of practices and phone calls. Pete waited for the phone calls but they never came. He wants to talk to his best friend so badly, but he doesn't know how to pick up the phone and talk to him. He doesn't know what he would even say. Everything is different now between the two of them, hell, the four of them.

It hurts. It makes his skin feel on fire with the anger he gets some days. He wants to punch the fucking door down, wants to fucking punch someone in the goddamn face over and over again. Pete wants to fucking scream and tear his hair out, bang his head against the wall until he can't remember his name. It's not fair. It's not fair that Patrick has to deal with this shit. He shouldn't have to. And then other days it's the voices in his head that kill him slowly.

"He could have accepted you, but he wouldn't like a fuck up like you." It's petty. It's not about Pete but the voice is a bastard and taunting him with shit like this. He fucking hates that the voice exists. No matter how many pills he downs, no matter how many drinks he has, it's always there.

Most days Pete wonders how Patrick is doing. If he's sitting in bed or if he's out and about or if he's singing and playing guitar. Fuck he misses him. He knows he should just show up to his house and demand to be let in but. He doesn't know how to talk to him anymore. It's been a whole month. What if Patrick didn't want to be his friend anymore?

Pete works himself up into panic attacks some days over it. He can't lose Patrick. Not like this. But it seems he's already lost and it's killing Pete.

He has enough of it one day and he leaves his apartment, getting into his car and just driving. He doesn't really pay attention to where he's going but he ends up at Patrick's house. It's not really a surprise to him, honestly. His subconscious is screaming for Patrick.

Pete parks in the driveway and heads up to the front door. He rings the doorbell once and waits, hoping it's Patrick who opens the door. The door pulls open and there stands Patricia, a smile on her face. Her smile widens when she sees Pete and she exclaims, "Pete! We haven't seen you around here in a while!" Pete chuckles lightly when she wraps him into a hug, squeezing him tight. She was like his second mother by this point.

He pulls away after a moment. "Patrick's upstairs." Patricia tells him, gesturing for him to come in. He does and it feels weird to be in the house after so long. It's the same as always, neat and clean, with the hint of messiness that came with a family. This was Pete's second home, somewhere he could always come. He takes comfort in the way Patricia's fussing over him. It means he and Patrick aren't quite over.

"How is he?" Pete asks, looking at a brand new picture on the fireplace mantle. It's of the band, the four of them posing for the picture and laughing. He remembers it like it was yesterday, though it was a few months ago. 

"He's okay. Quiet. He misses you, Pete." Patricia sighs. Pete can't imagine what she goes through every day, knowing her youngest child, her baby, is going to die sooner then her. He wouldn't want to feel that every day. "When he came home he locked himself in his room for three days. What happened?"

Pete swallows. She doesn't know about their kiss. He doesn't know if he should tell her but before he realizes it, the words are leaving his mouth. "I kissed him." It feels so good to say it. It makes it real. Patricia's eyes widen and she comes over and gives Pete another hug, startling him.

"Oh, honey. I'd been waiting for the day. That boy..." She shakes her head fondly and squeezes him before pulling away and pushing him towards the stairs gently. "Come on. Go and make things right." Pete smiles broadly at her, feeling better then he has in days. Some of the dark clouds over his head have disappeared, but he knows they won't be entirely gone until he makes things right with Patrick. 

Pete climbs the stairs, looking at the familiar pictures as he goes down the hallway to Patrick's room. He takes a deep breath when he reaches the door and raises his fist, knocking on the door and waiting. "What, mom?" Patrick calls from the other side of the door. He doesn't sound so tired anymore, sounds happier. It's so good to hear his voice and Pete, God, Pete wants to fucking kiss him again. 

"It's Pete. I-I...can I come in?" Pete says, holding his breath and praying Patrick said yes. It's silent for a minute and Pete can just see him freaking out on the other side of the door. It makes him want to laugh but also leave, because he's the reason he's freaking out. His chest goes tight and he's about to leave when Patrick says to come in, voice quieter.

Pete enters the room. It's clean, with the exception of a few dirty clothes on the floor. Patrick is on the bed, his laptop placed aside. His hair is atrocious and he's in pajamas, looking nervous. "H-hi." Patrick stammers out at the sight of him, sitting up. Pete feels happiness pulse through him at the sight of Patrick and he wants to hug him so badly. But he also feels anger bubbling up. Patrick could have contacted him, could have came over. He could have done something, but. He just went quiet.

"Why didn't- why didn't you...call me or...text me or anything?" Pete asks quietly. Patrick looks away. Fuck, Pete's going to punch something. He's so upset. "You, you could have done something! Let me know you were alive at the very least!" His voice is rising and he can't stop it. "It didn't mean anything to you, is that it? The band? Our kiss? Anything? Did I mean anything?" Pete's voice cracks and he clears his throat, refusing to let tears form in his eyes. All the pent up emotion from the past month is breaking free. He's had no one to talk to about it. Sure there was Andy and Joe, but they weren't like Patrick.

Patrick meets his eyes and there's a fire in them, angry and sad. "Fuck you." He says clearly and coldly. It makes Pete's blood run cold. Patrick lifts his chin, crossing his arms. "You don't know shit." His voice is shaky, but determined. "You don't know what the fuck I've been through, how much I've thought about just- just fucking killing myself to get it over with. You don't fucking know anything about how much I've cried about this! How I'm always thinking that one day when I'm going to leave you and Andy and Joe! Fuck, Pete, this isn't about you!" Patrick's shouting, moving from his sitting position on the bed to standing and moving towards Pete. Pete wants to slap him, wants to punch him, wants to make him bleed. But at the same times he wants to cry, wants to hold Patrick and kiss him until they're dizzy. How could Patrick think about killing himself?

"It's like you think I fucking asked to be this way! Like I wanted to have ten years left to live! You think I'm turning you away because I don't fucking like you? You're an idiot!" Patrick roars, voice edging in hysterical. Pete wants to grab him and shake him, make him understand that's not it. "You just don't know, Pete." Patrick whispers, hastily wiping away a tear.

The tears break Pete. He steps forward and grabs Patrick, pulling him close. Patrick shrieks and punches his chest, pounding away in anger. It hurts like a bitch but Pete endures it, waits for him to stop. He eventually does and so Pete wraps his arms around him, hugging him tight. Patrick sobs, body shaking with the intensity of it. Pete can sense he hasn't had a good cry in a while and it's breaking his heart to see him like this, but he knows it's best.

Patrick sobs and sobs before he goes quiet, hiccups escaping him every so often. Pete moves them onto the bed, being gentle. Patrick's clutching his shirt and breathing raggedly now, so Pete arranges him to where he's next to him, body curved towards his and head on his chest. Pete strokes his hair gently while tears of his own finally escape. He wipes them away and swallows, the lump in his throat fading slowly. It's okay. They're going to be okay.

"I'm sorry." Patrick whispers after a while. He sits up and wipes his eyes, which are red and puffy. "Pete. I'm so sorry." Pete shakes his head. It's not Patrick's fault. It's not. If anything, it's Pete's for being an asshole as soon as he stepped into the room.

"It's okay, Patrick. It's okay." Pete soothes. He sits up and opens his arms. Patrick falls into them, burying his face in Pete's shirt, but this time he's not punching and sobbing. He's quiet, hugging him tightly. When they pull away, Pete says, "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have yelled at you." And now that he thinks about it, he shouldn't have. It only served to work Patrick up, make him yell back. That couldn't be good for his heart. Shit. He hadn't realized that. Panic rises up in him. What if he just caused Patrick to stop breathing? His heart to stop beating? What if he was something dangerous to Patrick, someone that he shouldn't be around?

Before he realizes it, he's trembling and his breathing is quickening. He's panicking. He can't be the one who does this to Patrick. But it's his fault, it would be all his fault if Patrick's heart were to stop right now. All his fault because he wanted to make something about him.

Patrick seems to realize it just as soon as Pete does. He curses and wraps his arm around Pete, whispering calming and soothing things. He rubs circles into his back and it calms him, makes him feel better. "Breath with me, Pete." Patrick whispers and takes a deep breath, holding it for a few beats before releasing it. Pete follows the pattern, still trembling, though not as violently as before. 

They breath together, as one. They're not two people right now, but one person, moving and breathing together, fluidly. Pete wants to put it into words but deep down he knows he probably never will. Surprisingly, he's okay with that, because Patrick's here. 

It's a surprise when Patrick noses his cheek and then kisses him, pink lips capturing his bottom lip. Pete freezes and then pulls away. Patrick eyes open and he looks disappointed beyond belief. Pete fixes himself so he's more comfortable. He's not making out with an aching back "Why did you-" Pete cuts Patrick off by framing his cheeks and leaning in, pressing his lips to his. Patrick absolutely melts, letting out a whimper and steadying a hand on his shoulder. Pete moves a hand up into his hair, latching on. Fuck, this everything he's dreamed about, jerked off too, imagined in the past month. It's almost too much for him to handle.

They break apart naturally for air. Patrick's breathless, cheeks bright pink. His lips are shiny and shit, it's such a good look for him. Patrick dives back in and they kiss languidly, slowly, like they have all the time in the world. It's gentle and innocent until Pete can just feel the mood shift, Patrick's scent growing muskier. When Patrick moves a leg between Pete's... Well... That confirms Pete's suspicions. Pete presses tentatively and Patrick moans into his mouth, hand scrabbling for purchase. Oh god, it's so hot. Pete's hard and aching and bursting to get out of the damn girly jeans he has on, but he can't push Patrick into this. 

But then Patrick whimpers into his mouth and his self-control nearly flies out the window. He breaks away, only for Patrick's lips to slide across his jaw. He kisses his way down Pete's neck and Pete feels his brain fry. "P-Patrick. Your mom is here. We- fuck, we can't." Pete stammers as Patrick nibbles at his skin, plush lips like heaven. Patrick looks up and the fire in his eyes grows then dims.

"Yeah. Okay. I just- promise me, shit, we'll do it?" Patrick asks, moving up to kiss him again. He looks hopeful, teeth digging into his lip. Pete can't resist that at all. He's elated now, filled with a joy he hasn't felt in an entire month. Patrick's here, in his arms, looking well kissed and happy. Patrick's happy. Everything is good. How can he resist the chance to make Patrick happier?

"Yes."


End file.
